


Soaring

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-03
Updated: 2005-01-22
Packaged: 2018-12-27 11:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12080265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian and Justin meet on a totally obnoxious flight and can't seem to get out of each other's heads after they part.  Please review.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Justin’s POV

 

On top of everything else, I find myself sitting next to the hottest man I’ve ever seen. He’s got to be a good five inches taller than me, lean build, broad shoulders, impeccably dressed, soft hair, and beautifully expressive eyes. He’s been with me the whole flight. You’d think after all this time, I’d get used to sitting next to this amazing man. But it just seems as each second passes, I get more and more nervous. 

 

This was supposed to be a straight flight to Pittsburgh. But weather conditions or other such nonsense has turned my trip back home into a ride that could rival the best at Disneyland. After announcing that our one-way flight had turned into a changeover, they promised only a half an hour wait in Texas. That half an hour turned into four and half. Since Texas, it seems as though we’ve been on a wild goose chase to find Pittsburgh. I’ve seen more of the United States on this flight than I have in my entire life. Texas, North Dakota, Illinois, Virginia, and now we’re leaving North Carolina. It’s been guaranteed that North Carolina was our last stop before we hit home. 

 

“It better be,” the handsome man next to me muttered when the flight attendant made her announcement as we sat in the plane in Virginia. 

 

“There’s really no where else for us to go,” I whisper to him, hoping my voice doesn’t crack or sound nearly as anxious as it seems in my head.

 

The woman in the aisle next to us laughs a little. “They could decide to take us back to California and hit all the other states we’ve missed.”

 

I personally think it’s a good sign if the passengers are making jokes about our misfortune. Either that, or it’s a good sign that we are slowly going insane.

 

He’s my flight buddy for this trip, I guess. Luck would have it, we’ve been seated next to each other each flight. Which is also a little freaky, if you think about it. But I’d just as rather revel in his warmth, which is searing my left arm because our shoulders have decided to lean into each other. 

 

Just now his right foot knocked my ankle. I think my heart stopped beating. 

 

He’s doing important looking stuff on his lap top. I’ve made it a point not to peek at the screen, no matter how tempted I am. Instead, I’ve pulled out a sketch pad and started doodling. A small doodle of a flower has slowly emerged into an overgrown Japanese garden--a recent obsession of mine ever since I found this awesome Japanese garden book at this used bookstore on Wilshire. 

 

“That’s incredible,” He suddenly breaths on my neck. His voice sounds husky and dark, as if he’s just woken from a deep sleep.

 

I think my heart just dropped out of my ass. 

 

A hoarse “thanks” is my lame reply and his attention returns to his work.

 

Damn it, Justin. 

 

I try to remedy it by saying, “I like to draw gardens.”

 

Oh my God, now I really sound like a retard.

 

He laughs and I feel the sound reverberate in my head. “I can see that,” he responds and then gestures to my pad, “May I?” 

 

All I can do is nod as our fingers brush against each other before he eases the pad out of my deathlike grip. I can’t remember what else I’ve drawn in that particular pad and my heart starts to pound. I just pray there isn’t anything too embarrassing. I listen to him as he praises each page.

 

And then I remember what’s on the page before my garden.

 

He is. 

 

I know he’s nearing it as the pages turn. And then suddenly there he is, leaning against the Starbucks counter in Illinois. At that moment, I think all the blood in my body rushes to my face.

 

“You’re a good model,” I stutter, trying to snatch the pad away before he could inspect it further and see the minute details I painstakingly tried to capture on the page.

 

“Holy shit, I’m hot,” he snickers, pulling the pad away from my desperate fingers. “I should charge you.”

 

I know I’m acting like a child, but I can’t help it when my bottom lip juts out a little and I begin to pout. Folding my arms across my chest, I huff and look away, all the while burning in agonizing embarrassment.

 

“Well,” I can hear the smirk in his voice, “At least you didn’t turn me into a monster.” 

 

He places the pad back on my tray where I’m forced to stare at my drawing of him. All I can see are the mistakes. One of his hands is disproportionate to the other, his jeans should have more creases, his hair needs to be flatter around the ears, the counter should be lower. But he stops my brooding by repeating, “It’s really good. Stop analyzing it. Go back to drawing your flowers.”

 

“I’m an artist. I’ll never be happy with the finished product.”

 

“Then you’ll never have a finished product, will you? What’s the point, then, of drawing, if you have no final outcome you can be proud of? Why do it?” 

 

My lips automatically turn into a smile. “That’s the best part about being an artist: I can be as vain and unhappy as I want and it’s expected of me.”

 

“Interesting. You seem neither vain nor unhappy.”

 

“Then I guess I’ll never be a good artist,” I mockingly slump into my chair.

 

I like making him laugh, I decide. It’s slowly becoming my favorite sound in the world.

 

We’ve run out of things to say. As he begins to type again, I try to think of something to keep our conversation going, but I don’t want to seem desperate. I don’t know why, but the way he just eased out of a conversation with me makes me nervous. I unlatch my belt and stand up, stretching out the kinks and nerves. “I’m going to use the restroom,” I inform him, although I have no clue why he needs to know that I’m going to piss. 

 

Maybe I’m making it up, but I think I can feel his eyes watching me as I walk down the aisle. My imagination gets the best of me and I begin to strut, putting on a show for a man I know isn’t watching.


	2. Soaring

Brian’s POV

 

He’s got to be the hottest piece of ass I’ve ever seen. 

 

And he’s sort of funny in a bizarre kind of way.

 

We were in the nut store at the O’Hare airport in Chicago. I watched him as he pulled out his phone, dialed a number and screeched, “Nuts! Nuts! Nuts!” into it. I think perhaps I’m going a little insane on this flight, because that’s still making me smile two states later. It was totally random and one of those “you had to be there” moments, but really, that about sums up our flight--nuts, nuts, nuts. Well, more like, fuck this sucks worse than a twink who forgot to cover his teeth.

 

I watch him meander down the aisle like he owns this plane, which, considering how long he’s spent in it, I think he does. Hell, we all do. His bathroom expedition is an obvious invitation, but this flight has taken any fun out of any potential trick. I just want to make it back to the loft without another tour of this grand ol’ country. If they make one more fucking change to our flight there may be a chance none of us will make it to Pittsburgh alive--because I will have killed them all. 

 

I put away my lap top and slide my tray into place. His sketch pad is open on his seat and I take a good look at his drawing of me. He’s a truly amazing artist. I see the annoyance, anger, and weariness etched into my features. But I also see something stronger, something which sort of makes me proud to look like that. It’s like I see resilience and dominance in his portrayal of me. Hm. I wonder if he would notice if I took the drawing.

 

He’s standing over me. I missed my chance, if I was going to take it, to see if I could get a quick fuck out of his cute ass.

 

He’s stretching again and I try to ignore the tantalizing bit of flesh that’s slowly being revealed as he reaches heavenward. It’s a never-ending stretch and his pants have joined the teasing, inching slowly down his thin hips. Bone and flesh. 

 

Did he notice me lick my lips? 

 

He probably didn’t have time to notice anything because suddenly he’s forced into my lap as the plane hits a rough patch. I feel his warm breath on my crotch and his hands on my hips. I will myself not to get a hard-on.

 

Christ, I can’t believe this is turning me on.

 

“Sorry,” he grumbles into my crotch, but makes no attempt to move. The plane is still shaking like crazy and the seat belt light just made an appearance.

 

“Here,” I say, reaching to push on his shoulders. I help him turn around and he’s halfway off my lap when the plane jumps again. It’s his ass that meets my lap this time.

 

He’s blushing again. He’s done that a lot since we’ve met. It’s kind of sweet.

 

“I guess you should just stay here,” I remark, pushing my tongue into my cheek as I not only see, but feel his blush deepen. I wrap my arms around his slight waist and pull him tightly against my chest.

 

It must be the turbulence that’s making my heart beat as loudly as I think it is. 

 

We sit in silence as the lights flicker in the cabin and the plane jumps around in the sky. I couldn’t be happier, though, because I have a hot blond in my lap. Well, I can think of a few positions that would make me happier, but this will do, for now.

 

“So,” he begins. He twists in my lap and faces me. His breath is moist and sweet on my face as he asks, “Why were you in California?”

 

“Business.”

 

“Ah.” There’s a silence.

 

“Do you live in Pennsylvania?”

 

I nod.

 

“I see.” I like that he acknowledges my nod as if I verbally answered him.

 

“What about you?”

 

“I was born in Pittsburgh, but I’ve been living in California since I was seventeen. This is my flight home. I mean, I’m moving back for school.”

 

Shit. He’s younger than I thought he was. I study his upturned nose, pouty lips, prominent jaw, his seemingly endless blue eyes, and I wonder just how old he is.

 

“For graduate school.” He’s read my mind. “Im twenty-four. I took a year off between high school and college to work. Then I went to UCLA for visual arts. They have an awesome arts program.”

 

“So I’ve heard.”

 

“I minored in business, though. Advertising.”

 

This is interesting. “Why advertising?”

 

He shrugs a little and shifts on my lap. The plane is still hopping around and my slowly hardening dick must be making him uncomfortable.

 

“I don’t know. I can’t see myself as a starving artist or anything. I need to do something in my life that would stimulate me both artistically and intellectually.”

 

“I’m in advertising,” I decide to admit. 

 

His eyebrows shoot off his forehead. “What do you do?”

 

“I own an agency.”

 

“Holy shit. How old are you? You seem so young, but you own your own agency?” He demands. His cheeks flush, but it’s not the embarrassed blush I’ve seen before. It’s the same kind of flush I see on Mikey when he gets a new comic in that he loves. Or when Lindsay talks about Melanie. A flush of excitement.

 

But I hate that I’m almost thirty. And I hate to tell him that I’m almost thirty. No matter what, he’s still younger than me.

 

“How old do you think I am?” It’s a mean question, I know. He’s going to have to think of an age that would be appropriate but not offensive.

 

But he surprises me by answering right away. “You don’t look older than thirty. That can’t be right, though, because you’re so accomplished--”

 

“I’m twenty-nine.”

 

His eyes widen. “But how--”

 

“I’m the best,” No point in being modest. “A rival agency based in New York tried to snatch me up. My boss would rather have made me partner than lose me and then, just this year, he retired and I bought him out. Pretty easy, actually.”

 

“That’s amazing.” His face is etched with awe.

 

It’s only then that I notice the plane is once again flying smoothly and half the passengers are staring openly at our seating arrangement. “Don’t look now, but it appears as if we’re this evening’s entertainment.”

 

He strains his neck to look and then jumps off my lap, slamming into his own. His face once again grows scarlet.

 

“You blush a lot,” I tell him.

 

“It’s the curse of having pale skin,” he jokes, but his hands make their way to his face, pressing at his hot cheeks. He sees me staring at him and he covers his face completely. “Stop it! You’re only making it worse.”

 

I chuckle and am going to tease him again when the captain’s voice fills the plane, telling us that we’re about to land in Pittsburgh. 

 

“Finally,” I grumble, settling back into my seat. I choose to ignore the look of disappointment on my neighbor’s face. Nor do I pay attention to the tightening in my chest.

 

It’s only after we get our luggage and shake hands in parting do I remember that we didn’t even exchange names. I swirl around, hoping to see him before he disappears into the sea of travelers, but I don’t.

 

I’m sure he would have been fun.

 

Life sucks sometimes.


	3. Soaring

Justin’s POV

 

It isn’t by choice that I find myself at Babylon a month after I arrive in Pittsburgh, nursing a beer, feeling sorry for myself. The constant thumpa-thump-thump of the music is slowly ripping out my insides and replacing them with something reminiscent to lead. 

 

I haven’t been to Babylon since my first week back. Five days I spent here, desperately searching for this man that Daphne insists I made up. But there’s no way, no matter how artistic I am, could I have made up those haunting eyes and that incredibly sexy laugh--a laugh that sounds as though it comes from somewhere deep inside; as if it hardly ever surfaces. And there’s no way I imagined his cock hardening against my ass. “Come on, you don’t even know if he’s gay!” It’s true, I have the worse gaydar known to mankind, but after spending some time on the man’s lap, feeling his arousal grow, I can figure it out. 

 

And now... he agonizes my every thought.

 

God. I’m such a twat for not getting his name. At least his name, Justin! You could’ve done that! Flight after flight and I never once thought to introduce myself properly.

 

Daphne says that tonight is my inaugural visit to Babylon: my first night here that I’m not looking for him. I agreed to be here because even I’m starting to see how pathetic I’ve become. The few tricks I have had since coming home left me unsatisfied and I found myself comparing them to him. Even though I’ve never had him. Even though I probably never will.

 

But can I help it that my eyes trail to the door when I think no one is looking? There’s been so many ‘almosts’ tonight. That guy almost looks like him, but he isn’t as tall. Or that guy almost looks like him, but his hair is lighter. The closest thing here is the guy to the right of the bar, but he has way too many muscles. He’s not as smooth, lean, or firm as him.

 

“Are you waiting for someone, Justin?” Emmett asks me, following my gaze.

 

I open my mouth to deny his inquiry, but Daphne beats me to it. “Justin! Jesus Christ! Get over it already!” She looks at Emmett and mutters, “Airplane.”

 

Daphne did well for herself. Everyone expected her to study medicine or biology--you know, sciences. But instead, she went into business. Advertisement, actually. It’s just one other thing we have in common. If I wasn’t a fag and she wasn’t a dyke, I’d totally marry her.

 

Daphne’s lucky. She interned for an agency while in college and they liked her so much, she became a permanent feature. It’s owned by a friend of theirs, Brian Kinney. Daphne claims to like working for Brian better than her old boss. I have yet to meet Brian, but I know all about him.

 

Emmett sighs, “Still? Are you sure he’s real, Justin?”

 

I grumble nonsensical words into my beer and take a huge drink, excusing myself from answering; from being any more pitiful than I already am. I hate the look of sympathy I receive from Ted. I haven’t known them that long, but I know that if Ted pities you...

 

Well, that’s just pathetic.

 

I like Daphne’s friends. She met Ted at her work. And because Ted and Emmett are best friends, she became friends with Emmett also. Since I’ve moved back to Pittsburgh, it’s like even though I’ve been disowned by my biological family, because of Emmett, Ted, Daphne, and all the others, I still have one--a family, that is. 

 

“Is Brian here yet?” Michael asks as he pulls his partner, Ben, off the dance floor. Ben is likable enough, but he’s so boring. For instance, one time they left me alone with Ben and he talked to me for an hour about homosexuality in nineteenth century France. 

 

“Oh? Do I finally get to meet the illustrious Brian Kinney?” I tease Michael. Out of all Daphne’s friends, Michael and I get along the best. He’s so down to earth and even though he whines constantly, he’s a good listener and an obviously loyal friend.

 

Plus, he’s the only one who takes my airplane story seriously. I guess he’s a romantic at heart or something, because he was especially interested in this guy.

 

I can’t help but notice the gleam in his eye when I ask about Brian. “Oh, you’ll meet him.”

 

It’s when I turn around to order another beer that I feel it. I can’t explain the sensation, only that the small hairs on the back of my neck begin to tingle and my groin tightens.

 

“Brian’s here,” Michael informs the group.

 

“You’re late, Kinney,” Daphne says and I hear her place a kiss on his cheek.

 

I’m about to turn around when he says, “Fashionably” and laughs. My knees go weak.

 

I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him.

 

Would it be rash of me to rip off all of his clothing right fucking now? Because that’s what I’m going to do if I turn around and see him. Brian. No wonder Michael has been so interested. Like a fucking idiot, I’ve been pining over his best friend for the past month. Drooling, dreaming, sighing--and Michael’s seen it all.

 

Well fuck me with a pogo stick. I’m going to kill Michael slowly and painfully.

 

“Who’s the new addition?” Brian ponders. It’s got to be me he’s talking about, right? If I don’t turn around then I don’t ever have to face this, right?

 

I know. I know. I’ve been fantasizing about this all month. But, I never actually expected to actually meet him again.

 

Can I just run away and hide forever? Please?

 

Michael’s trying to make the introductions, but I can’t turn around. Why did I have to wear these crappy cargo pants? Why didn’t I take Daphne’s advise and wear that sexy button up I own? And my hair--ugh.

 

“Justin?” Michael pokes my back. 

 

“I don’t feel so well.” It’s a terrible excuse, but I’m totally preparing to flee.

 

“Hey,” his voice stops me. It has that same tone, that sexy, God-I’m-so-fucking-hot-there’s-no-way-you’re-going-to-get-away-from-me tone that he used a couple times on the airplane. That tone that makes all the blood rush out of my face and into my dick.

 

“I know you, right?” Brian asks. Refusing to look at him, I catch everyone else’s eyes on me. They’re curious. I look at Michael and find him more humored than anything else. “Hello?” Brian waves his hands in front of my face in order to get my attention. “I do know you, right?”

 

“Not really,” I sigh. 

 

“Are you sure? ‘Cause you seem really familiar to me.”

 

“We might’ve met, but we don’t know each other.” I turn back to the bar. “Double beam.” Surviving this night will require lots of whiskey. 

 

This is not the way I imagined it. I imagined sunshine and cheesy romantic music. I imagined us running toward each other, happy tears trailing down our faces as we embrace for the very first time.

 

I imagined him to be searching for me, as eager as I am in connecting again. I never once imagined him to be Brian fucking Kinney. Of course I have to get a crush on the one guy I can never have. 

 

“Make that two,” he says, close enough to make my entire body break out in tiny bumps. 

 

My left arm is resting against his chest as he turns to stare at me. He waits until I drink my Beam to ask, “Have we fucked?”

 

It’s like that movie When Harry Met Sally. You know, when Harry sees Sally at the airport years later and he sort of recognizes her, but can’t quite figure it out. I let out a bark of a laugh and I see Brian scoot back, a look of confusion settling in on his chiseled features. 

 

“Should I take that as a ‘hell no’?” He’s obviously offended. I watch him as he quickly throws back his drink and turns to lean against the bar, looking very much like the drawing I did of him in Illinois.

 

He must see something that’s caught his attention because he pushes away from the bar quickly, and gracefully saunters toward the dance floor. I can’t decide if I imagine the quick glance back at me before he disappears into the sweaty bodies, or not.

 

I royally fucked that up.

 

The others crowd around me and I make sure not to look in Brian’s direction again.

 

“How do you know Brian?” Daphne asks , her eyes narrow to slits as she regards me with interest.

 

I shrug. “I don’t. Not really.”

 

“Seemed like you do,” Emmett drawls as he swirls his very pink martini.

 

Michael takes a place next to me, watching me out of the corners of his eyes for a few moments. “Not how you imagined it?”

 

“Hardly,” I grumble. “I’m an artist, though. It’s probably in my nature or something to romanticize everything.”

 

“Look,” Michael turns to look straight into my eyes, leaving me no way to ignore him. “He’s just being an ass. I know that he recognizes you. He just doesn’t want to seem all wishy-washy in front of everyone. This is his stomping ground, you know.”

 

“So I’ve heard.”

 

Michael heaves a heavy sigh. “I know what everyone has told you about Brian. Normally, I’d try to dissuade someone from pursuing him. Yeah, Brian claims not to do romance or dating or relationships, but he’s never really had anyone who’s tried. Besides, I remember how he was when he came back from California. You’d think with a flight like the one you guys experienced, he’d be a total shit, but he wasn’t. As a matter of fact, for the first like two weeks, Brian seemed more at ease than I’ve seen him in a long time. I think that’s your doing. I think you’d be good for him. Even if Brian doesn’t realize it yet, it’s there, subconsciously or something. If you want him, if you’re interested, I promise to do everything I can to help you get him.”

 

“Wait a minute,” Daphne shrieks. “Brian Kinney is the guy you’ve been obsessing over for the past month?”

 

Michael grins and nods.

 

“Oooh,” Emmett whispers, looking between me and the direction Brian disappeared to. “That boy’s gonna be in trouble.”


	4. Soaring

Brian’s POV

 

I was being honest. I didn’t recognize Justin at first. The lighting in Babylon is quite the opposite from the lighting in a fucking airplane. He seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then it all came rushing back. That’s why I grabbed him. He’s not someone easy to forget. That ass. Those eyes. That hair. Fuck me, that smile. 

 

Holy shit. When did I turn into such a dyke? 

 

I’m not going to lie and say I wasn’t hoping to run into him again. It’s just that I sure as hell didn’t expect to see him at Babylon with _my_ friends. And for obviously wanting me in that plane, Justin was being pretty fucking nonchalant at Babylon. 

 

When I finally did recognize him, all I wanted to do him was grab him and stuff him into my pocket and never lose him again. He’s so fucking cute...

 

Hmm.

 

I’m totally going to ignore whatever thinking _that_ might insinuate. 

 

God, fuck him for being such an ass. Could I have been any more foolish? Standing there, trying to see if he remembered me. 

 

Get this: now, Justin’s everywhere and I don’t understand why. He’s at the diner, at Debbie’s, at Babylon and Woody’s. He even shows up at Kinnetik three days a week to eat lunch with Daphne. Really, if he wants me to fuck him, all he’s got to do is ask. And it’s pissing me off that he doesn’t. Instead, he just watches me with those big blue eyes . To top it all off, I was so sure that he would be openly disapproving about the number of tricks I have, but unlike Michael and the others, he never says a word. He just watches. And sometimes smiles when I get someone super hot, as if rooting me on. 

 

He’s a fucking enigma. 

 

It’s embarrassing enough that I want him as much as I do, but what’s worse is that he’s now invading my dreams. Last night, I dreamt that we were in this huge castle with all these stained glass windows. He was naked and the multitude of colors were reflecting off his body. He was beautiful.

 

And I’m starting to look forward to him just popping up like he has the tendency to do. That’s just pathetic.

 

Today, I can finally get away from Justin because I’m meeting Michael at his shop for lunch. 

 

“Hey, shop keep!” The bells hanging off Michael’s door ring loudly. I’ve tried to convince him time and time again to get rid of the damn bells, but he likes them. They were a gift Ben brought back from Tibet. 

 

Instead of being greeted with Michael’s chipper face, though, I’m standing in front of _him_. What the hell?

 

“Where’s Michael?” 

 

Justin offers me a small smile. “He had to take Vic to the doctor or something.”

 

“Uh huh.” 

 

Ah. I’m starting to get a feeling that this is some sort of conspiracy. 

 

“Why are you here? Where’s the kid that normally works Fridays?”

 

“He works Friday evenings. I think he’s still at school and since I don’t start for a couple weeks, I offered my services.”

 

His cheeks taint red and I can’t help smiling. “Is he paying you enough for said ‘services’?” I tease. 

 

Justin lets out a snort, “Please. He wouldn’t be able to afford me.” He starts restocking a display and I watch in amusement for a while. 

 

“Oh? He couldn’t afford you, huh?” I let my eyebrows raise. “Well, could I?”

 

A couple comics fall out of his hands and slip onto the floor. We both lean down quickly and at this close proximity, I can see his hands are shaking a bit. “Relax, Justin,” I drawl out his name. “I was just joking.”

 

He begins to sputter excuses, quickly scooping the dropped comics. As he stands up, he says, “I didn’t know you were coming here.”

 

“Oh? This wasn’t part of the plan? Is Michael becoming slack on his matchmaking skills?”

 

“What?” He almost squeaks. His body twirls around and he’s staring intently into my eyes. It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t know what it is about Justin that’s driving me insane. He’s making me feel a gambit of emotion; emotions that I’ve never really taken the time or energy to feel before. 

 

I feel like there’s this weird internal tug, like I’m some kid in a candy store, begging for the biggest and best. Something deep inside me, squealing, “I want that one! I want it now!”

 

This isn’t me. These aren’t my feelings. I’m pretty sure it’s because I haven’t fucked him yet. In my mind, he’s been lifted onto a pedestal and if I could just spend one night with him, I’m sure all this would go away. Feeling this way makes me anxious.

“What?” Justin asks nervously, and I realize that I’ve been staring at him.

 

“What is it about you?” I ask him. Justin looks honestly confused, so I continue. “I mean, you’re really fucking hot--” I pause to watch the telltale blush creep into his features. “But I don’t think I’ve seen you once hit on someone. Why?”

 

He shrugs. Looking up at me he says, “We’re all different, Brian.” I think that’s the first time I’ve heard him say my name. Does he have to say it all gruff and deep like that? “That’s your way. Not mine.”

 

I think I’m staring at his lips. They look so soft. “What’s my way?”

 

“Tricking.”

 

“So your way’s what? Relationships? Or, God, monogamy?” I let out a small shutter. How boring.

 

He laughs heartily. Okay, now I’m really confused.

 

“I don’t give a shit about monogamy, Brian.” He really needs to stop saying my name. “It’s just that tricking has never sexually satisfied me. So I just don’t trick that often.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“I find someone I like and we fuck.”

 

“That’s what I do too.”

 

He bites his lip. As if that’s going to help me understand. “Never mind,” he sighs.

 

Oh no way. “Come on.”

 

“It’s not the whole ‘faithfulness’ thing that attracts me to relationships. It’s not about monogamy. I don’t know.” He’s frustrated. “I like getting to know someone’s body. Finding his hot spots. What turns him on. What turns him off. How to make him come in thirty seconds. How to make it last all night. I guess for me, half the pleasure that comes from fucking is giving him the best orgasm of his life. That’s what I like and you usually can’t get that from a one night stand.”

 

Holy shit. I need to get out of here. 

 

The bells on the door indicate that we have company. “Shit, Brian. I’m so sorry. I forgot we had plans,” Michael apologizes as he comes up to us. “Is it too late to get a quick bite?”

 

“Yeah. I’ve got to go. Bye,” I say this as I’m walking to the door. I glance over my shoulder and see Michael turn to Justin for explanation, but Justin just shrugs and looks a little lost himself. 

 

No way is some blond twink going to get the best of me.


	5. Soaring

Justin’s POV

 

The sexual tension’s still here. The uncertainty is still here. The attraction is definitely still here. But something’s changed. He used to joke with me; we used to flirt. Now we behave as though we’re strangers. Awkward strangers, but strangers nonetheless. I hate how fucking polite he’s been to me. It’s kind of freaky, actually. 

 

I’m pretty sure I said or did something to piss him off. Whatever it is, it sucks.

 

Because I really like him.

 

At first I thought it was just that I wanted to fuck him. And I do. I still do, of course. Who wouldn’t? But I _like_ him, you know? I like who he is. 

 

Brian Kinney is complicated. He’s like a difficult riddle or logic puzzle that you just have to figure out. The kind that has you sitting on the couch for half the day as you add and subtract and multiply until you finally come up with the solution. 

 

No, wait. He’s more like a Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle. You know you may never finish it, but you force yourself to try because of how proud and happy and accomplished it will make you feel. 

 

I can just imagine his cute half-assed sneer if he ever heard me say that. 

 

That’s another thing. His facial expressions are priceless. I’ve never met anyone who can ask a loaded question with the raise of a brow. Or who can make you feel like an absolute fool with a slight twist at the corner of his lips. He personifies tongue-in-cheek humor. 

 

I like Brian Kinney because he’s three-dimensional. 

 

“I think you scare him,” Michael leans over to yell in my ear. We’re at Babylon, of course, and I’m watching intently as Brian dances with his latest conquest. A conquest who, I notice, looks somewhat like me. Only, he’s wearing an obviously expensive outfit. He’s slightly taller and darker than me. 

 

More muscles too.

 

Okay. He looks nothing like me. But if I squint and lean my head to the left slightly, I can see the resemblance.

 

“Really? Are you sure it’s not because I’m short? Or translucent?” I yell back sullenly. The trick is hot, that’s for sure. 

 

It must be sexual tension that’s gotten me all wound up tonight. I’m so fucking horny. 

 

Michael laughs at me. “Yeah, you certainly aren’t Brian’s type.”

 

I’m pretty sure I shoot daggers at Michael, who scoffs and then pulls me close. “Brian likes hot things. You’re hot. Really. You’re on fire, kid. Trust me. It’s not a matter of physical attraction.”

 

The trick now has his tongue down Brian’s throat. 

 

“He’s scared of you.”

 

“Great,” my voice falls flat.

 

“I think he’s confused because he wants you. And I don’t just mean to fuck. Because if Brian Kinney wanted to fuck you, he would. I think he’s torn because he’s been starting to consider you his friend, and we all know--”

 

“Brian doesn’t fuck his friends,” I grumble. “So I’m either a trick or his friend, huh. I can’t be both?”

 

Michael gives me this weird look. “You want to be just another trick?”

 

I shake my head vehemently. “But I do want to fuck him. I want it all.”

 

“I know you do. And Brian knows you do too.” Michael places a hand on my shoulder, offering silent support. We both glance at Brian and he’s staring intently at us, forgetting about his trick for a moment. When our eyes meet, though, he’s all over the guy again. “Yeah, he knows. And what I think he’s beginning to understand...” He pauses as we watch Brian lead his trick into the back room. “What he’s beginning to understand is that maybe he wants it all too.”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“I’ve known him like half his life. He’s almost thirty. People change, Brian included. Believe me, you’re not the first to want to have a relationship with him. There have been other men who’ve been interested in Brian as more than just a fuck. Men Brian was so sexually attracted to, it drove him insane, so to speak. But he’s never had Sunday brunch with those men. Or shared friends with those men. Because those men were just tricks who wanted more than Brian was willing to give them. He’d just fuck them and leave them.”

 

I shrug my shoulders. “I know all this.”

 

“Let me put it this way,” Michael sighs. He’s frustrated with me. “You’re still here.”

 

“Yeah, but we haven’t fucked yet.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“What?” That makes no sense. Honestly. I try to count back the beers Michael’s drank tonight. Not that many. Not enough to be babbling as bad as he is. 

 

“Brian likes you, Justin. That’s why he hasn’t fucked you. That’s why he lets you keep hanging around him; around us. Because he _wants_ you around. He likes you being around.”

 

I stuff my hands into my pockets and pout. “Then why doesn’t he ever really talk to me anymore? It seems so awkward now.”

 

Michael chews on his lips, as if weighing his options. “I’m not supposed to tell you this because I’m not supposed to know...” Okay. Now, he has my full and complete attention. “But Brian told Lindsay what you said to him at the shop. About tricking and relationships. Brian said that the way you put it... That if being in a relationship means better sex, then it mustn’t be that bad.”

 

If I were drinking something, I think it would shoot out of my nose. “Are you fucking with me?”

 

“No.”

 

I’m speechless. 

 

“You’re challenging the beliefs that he’s lived by his entire life. That’s enough to scare anyone.”

 

Well, shit.


	6. Soaring

Brian’s POV

 

It’s like I have no control. Control over my body, my thoughts, my actions. 

 

An example: last night, at Woody’s, this guy tried to drag Justin home with him even after he was rejected. Of course I didn’t let that happen, that’s not the issue. I would have stopped the guy even if I didn’t know the kid he was trying to fuck. It was my reaction that bothered me. It wasn’t just that I helped Justin. It was how I felt when I saw the guy grab Justin’s arm. I was angry, for sure, but more than that...

 

I was fucking jealous.

 

I’m sitting as far away from him as possible this morning. Sometimes I’m able to just blot him out of any given situation and it’s not so bad. But right now, I can’t get rid of him. I blame the munchers entirely. They keep going on and on about this violinist they met and how “perfect” he would be for Justin. It’s obvious that he’s more than a little uncomfortable.

 

Good.

 

“He’s so sensitive, Justin. You’d love him.” Lindsay is all but swooning over the violinist. “I told him about you and he seems very interested.” She winks in his direction.

 

I must be scowling openly because she turns to me and says, “Jesus, Brian. I’m not trying to hook _you_ up with Ethan. Or with Justin, for that matter.”

 

“So keep your cynicism to yourself this time.” Stupid Melanie.

 

Justin glances furtively in my direction. Our eyes meet for a moment before he looks away. He lets out a heavy sigh when he realizes that everyone seems to be waiting for his answer. He sort of mumbles something, then clears his throat and says, “I’m not sure I like sensitive men, Lindsay.”

 

Debbie laughs at this. “Honey, sensitive men are the best. They’re the easiest to control.”

 

“Ma!” I can’t help but smirk. You’ve got to love Deb.

 

“If you don’t like sensitive, then what do you like?” Mel asks him. 

 

“He likes tall, dark, and brooding,” Daphne explains knowingly. “He likes men who are emotionally unavailable and don’t show open interest in him.”

 

The tips of Justin’s ears paint pink and he sneers out a “Shut up, Daphne” before returning to his meal.

 

“Well, those kind of men aren’t worth the effort,” Lindsay sighs. “It’s men like Ethan who prove to be fruitful in a relationship.”

 

Melanie laughs. “How do you know so much about men?”

 

“Look who are friends are,” Lindsay sweeps a hand across the table, “All men.”

 

“You’re right. We need to broaden our horizons.”

 

The room erupts with laughter and all I can think about is Justin being happily married to some romantic twat with a violin. 

 

“So, what do you say, Justin? Do you want to meet Ethan?” 

 

We let Justin trip over his words for a while, shifting food hopelessly across his plate, until Emmett says, “I think our boy’s interested in someone else.”

 

Justin doesn’t deny this, he just continues to play with his food, turning redder.

 

What? Well, now. Interesting. How come I didn’t know about this?

 

“Oh? I didn’t know you like someone.” Debbie leans into the table conspiratorially and asks, “Who is it?”

 

“Shut up. Jesus.” Justin’s obvious embarrassment makes everyone laugh.

 

Where have I been that I don’t even notice Justin interested in someone? Great. Here I go, getting all jealous again. If I stay here much longer, I’m probably going to say or do something that they will never let me forget. I push my chair back and everyone looks at me. “I’m just going for a smoke.”

 

Outside, the air is cold and my breath forms little clouds as I exhale the smoke. My silent reverie is only for a moment before I hear the backdoor open and someone climbing down the steps to join me.

 

It’s Daphne. She pats my jacket pockets and pulls out the pack of cigarettes. “You’re pissed off because Justin is interested in someone, huh?” She asks.

 

I huff out a laugh. “Not really.”

 

“You’re very dense, Brian.”

 

“What?”

 

“And that surprises me, because in the working world, you’re so sharp. I guess your street smarts need some work.”

 

“What?”

 

“It’s _you_ he likes... A lot.”

 

Uh...

 

Oh.

 

“Well. He’s shouldn’t. That’s stupid.” Even I think I sound twelve. God. 

 

“I agree.”

 

What? What a bitch. “Fuck off.”

 

Daphne bursts into laughter. “Not really. I think you’re good for him, Bri.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

 

“I know you don’t want him to meet this violin player. You looked like you were going to burst when Lindsay started talking about him.”

 

Shit. 

 

“It’s not that obvious, Brian. Don’t worry.” She pauses and we smoke in silence for a couple minutes. “He doesn’t think you’d want him. It’s killing him, Brian. And me. He’s getting to be so annoying. You need to just tell him that you like him--”

 

“This isn’t junior high, Daphne.”

 

“Tell him that you like him. Or at least show some interest. He hasn’t known you as long as I have. You can be pretty impossible to read.”

 

“Look. I don’t want a relationship... I don’t want to be all domestic and shit. And I definitely don’t want to be monogamous.”

 

“Well, I don’t know what Justin really wants in a relationship. But I do know this: you would be very fucking happy with him. And I know he doesn’t give a flying fuck about monogamy as long as you can satisfy him in bed. You like him, too, right?” I don’t answer, instead, I take a long drag of my cigarette. She sighs. “However, if you really don’t want him,” I can even hear the smirk that’s spreading across her face. “If you look deep inside yourself and you see absolutely no desire to be with him in any way, then you need to make it clear. That way he can move on.”

 

“What do you mean by ‘move on’?”

 

“I mean, get over you.”

 

“Well, I’ll have to think about that.” Daphne opens her mouth to argue, but I stop her by saying, “Because I don’t know if I want him to move on.” I pause and think. “Or get over me... I just... I just don’t know.”


	7. Soaring

Justin’s POV

 

I’m in the bathroom at Kinnetik, washing my hands. Daphne and I just had lunch and the sandwich I ordered made my fingers smell impossibly of onions, even though it didn’t have onions on it. Taking that into consideration, we’ve decided not to eat there again. I’m scrubbing my hands furiously under the hot water when this guy walks in. His name is Andrew or Aaron or something that starts with an A. He nods in my direction, takes a piss, and then stands right next to me.

 

“Can I help you?” I ask, shaking my hands out, spraying the mirror with water.

 

“I totally want to fuck you,” he leans down to whisper in my ear. He runs his hands quickly under the water before reaching for a towel. 

 

Oh yeah. That’s sanitary. You’re supposed to use soap, buddy.

 

“I totally want to fuck you,” he repeats. “But he’d kill me if I even tried.”

 

Adam or Alan or whatever opens the bathroom door and slides out. I decide he’d be kind of cute if he wasn’t so damn creepy. 

 

Shaking my head, I grab some paper towels.

 

Wait. What? 

 

I throw my towels away and run to the door, yanking it open and colliding with a hard body. Looking up, I see Arthur or Anton or whatever smiling at me. 

 

“Where’re you headed, little boy?”

 

Yeah. Definitely creepy. But I need to know what the fuck he’s talking about.

 

“Who’s he?” I ask and take a step away from him. 

 

As his eyebrows scrunch up. There’s only one man who can do that and make it work. Fuck. I have it bad. 

 

That sort of realization comes to me at least three times a day. It’s official. I’m pathetically obsessed with Brian Kinney. I like him _so_ much.

 

“You said that ‘he’d’ kill you.”

 

A look of disappointment flickers in his eyes. “Oh. That. Well, Kinney. Of course.”

 

I swear to God, my heart leaps out of my throat, onto the floor, and slides ungracefully along the floor to Brian’s office.

 

“What makes you say that?” I ask cautiously.

 

“You guys are together, right?” Anthony or Abraham or whatever asks, a sly smile forming on his lips as he sees that, perhaps, Brian and I aren’t together.

 

“What makes you say that?” I say again.

 

“Look, if you aren’t together, great. Let’s fuck.” He puts a rather small hand on my arm, stroking it up and down. 

 

“What makes you say that?” I repeat in an exasperated tone, ripping my arm out of his touch and stepping away from him.

 

He sighs. “Fuck. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the way you guys look at each other. Or touch each other. I don’t know.”

 

“Touch each other?”

 

“Yeah. You guys always press up against each other. I just assumed you were together because that’s what people do when they like each other, you know? They constantly touch one another.”

 

“You’re pretty observant.”

 

His grin is too oily for me; zero confidence, one-hundred percent creep. “Of course. I do marketing research. I’ve got to be observant.”

 

I take a quick inventory in my brain to find that he’s right. Brian and I behave like children with crushes, almost... But that’s what it takes for me to get it. 

 

And I do. I get it. Oh my God. I get it. 

 

It’d be kind of ridiculous if I wasn’t so excited.

 

“So, what do you say? Wanna fuck?” 

 

“You?” He nods, his smile growing. “No.”

 

He does this small double-take. Like he didn’t understand that I’ve just rejected him. Then he scowls for a small moment before walking away.

 

I get it. Michael’s right. Brian does want me.

 

I replay all the times we’ve brushed up against each other. How many times in the past few months has Brian reached out to touch my hand as I’ve passed him? How many times have I nudged his arm with my shoulder?

 

Oh, yeah. Life is fabulous, especially when Brian Kinney wants you.

 

I don’t think screaming this out loud at Brian’s office would be a very good idea, though. Instead, I go back to the bathroom to lock myself in a stall and begin a series of extremely lame jumps and cheers. I’m in the middle of doing a sad impersonation of a fourth grader singing that kissing song-- “Justin and Brian sitting in a tree”--when I hear the bathroom door open. I still my movements, feeling my face grow hot. Thank God I went to a stall. 

 

I hear whoever it is pee and then move over to the sink. I squint my eyes and look between the crack of the door to see that it’s Brian.

 

Oh happy day.

 

Without really thinking, I unlock the door and walk up behind him.

 

“Hi,” I say, timidly, but really fucking excited.

 

Brian jumps and then looks into the mirror, smiling a little when he sees me.

 

“Hey.” He shakes his hands out too, just as I did minutes before.

 

I’m doing that thing where every little similarity we have is magnified ten fold and suddenly, we’re so meant to be that I can’t even see straight.

 

“Would you kill him?” I ask, smiling wide, making my face hurt from the stretch.

 

“What?” He looks so confused that I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. Too little, too late, I guess. He’s not going to get away from me. Because he so wants me. 

 

He turns around, leaning a little on the sink and asks, “Are you high?”

 

“Mmm. On you, I guess.” 

 

Okay, that was too cheesy, even for me. So let’s just pretend that I didn’t say that, but instead I just shake my head and grin as an answer.

 

Only I did say that and he’s got that cute bemused look on his face. That look which, sure enough, brings his tongue into his cheek.

 

I can’t stop staring at his full lips. It’s like they’re drawing me towards him and before I know, I’m pressed up against him, nuzzling his face with my own. Instead of kissing his lips, I begin to kiss his jaw. That beautifully prominent jaw. And then those high cheekbones. His well-defined eyebrows. His prefect nose. Mmm. And then those lips. Full, slightly parted, soft lips. Just a quick peck, not enough, though. Never enough. So soft.

 

But that’s it. That’s all I’m going to do. After months and months of waiting and flirting and teasing and uncertainty, we kiss. Short and sweet. But God, it felt fucking good. So good, in fact, that my jeans are beginning to tighten around the crotch. 

 

I can’t help myself. I move one of my hands so that it’s covering Brian’s cock. I just have to know if he feels it too.

 

Which he does. And not just in his groin. His whole body has taken on this unnatural flush. God, if that’s what one small kiss will do...

 

“What are you doing?” He asks in that gruff voice I’ve only heard a few times before.

 

“Something I’ve been wanting to do ever since that goddamn flight of ours.” I lick my lips. They don’t taste like me. I lick them again. “I want you so much.” There, I said it. “But I don’t want to be just another fuck. So, I’m going to leave it up to you. I’m not going to push. I’m just letting you know.” I lick my lips once more. They taste like me again. Damn.

 

“Letting me know?” He’s panicking. I didn’t want that. 

 

“That I really fucking like you. And I want you.”

 

Brian nods and time sort of pauses. 

 

“I don’t know what I want from you,” he finally admits.

 

“I know. I’ll give you time.”

 

It’s his turn to lick his lips. It’s silly how jealous I am that I’m not the one doing it. 

 

“How much time?”

 

“How much do you need?”

 

We look at each other for a long time. Then, “Meet me at Babylon, tonight,” he says, before biting his bottom lip and walking out.


	8. Soaring

Brian’s POV

 

Well, I didn’t expect _that_ when I went to take a piss. 

 

The boy’s set an ultimatum. I don’t do ultimatums... Just like I don’t do the same person twice or relationships.

 

“You don’t do a lot of things,” Michael tells me, when I visit him at the shop after work. 

 

This is why I hate having a best friend. “I just--”

 

“Don’t want to take any chances?”

 

“No. It’s just--”

 

“For celebrating this grandiose life-style of--what it is you say?-- ‘no apologies, no regrets,’ you sure don’t take very many chances. You don’t ever give yourself the opportunity to regret something, or apologize for it.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“Well, it’s hypocritical of you to have this ‘I don’t give a fuck attitude,’ but then totally give a fuck.”

 

Did I already say I hate Michael? Because right now, I really do.

 

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” God, I’m whining now. What next?

 

“I am on your side. I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to be alone for the rest of your life, getting old and gray without someone there to... I don’t know... Comfort you or something.”

 

I scoff. “I won’t need comforting, Mikey. And with any luck, I’ll be dead before anything grays.”

 

Michael’s been setting up a display behind his counter, but stops when I say this. He turns around and I see what can only be disappointment in his eyes. 

 

He’s like the father I never had sometimes.

 

“You don’t mean that, Brian.”

 

Turning away from him, I walk over to the rack of Japanese comics and pick one up. I’m greeted with two male police officers butt-fucking. Holding it up, I say, “You’ve gotta love the Japanese. This is nearly pornographic.”

 

“It’s not pornography, it’s art. And don’t think that you’re going to get me sidetracked. We need to talk about this. About Justin.”

 

I shrug and put the comic away. It’s by a woman, anyway. What does she know about gay male sex? Hell, probably more than I care to--God, I’m getting myself distracted, not Michael.

 

“I don’t want to talk about Justin.”

 

“Then why the fuck are you here? I mean, you nearly break down my door to tell me that he kissed you! Just give the guy a chance. Take some time, think about what you _really_ want.”

 

“But I don’t do ultimatums.”

 

“Giving someone an option isn’t an ultimatum.”

 

I shake my head. “You weren’t there. He was so demanding.”

 

“So, he’s a bossy bottom. You yourself always say that that’s the best type of bottom.”

 

“He’s just a kid.”

 

“He’s twenty-four. Look, Brian. What’s the big deal? I mean, if you don’t want him, then you should’ve made it clear from the beginning. Right? And if you only wanted to fuck him, then you would’ve already. Just admit that you like Justin. It’ll make your life so much easier, Bri. I promise.”

 

“Of course I like him. What’s not to like? But that’s not the issue.” I see Michael clench his fists. Uh oh. I’ve fallen into the danger zone without even knowing it. I need to tread this carefully. “It’s that I can’t give him what he wants.”

 

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

 

“Why do you care so much?”

 

“I like Justin.”

 

“So, what? You’re really on his side?”

 

That did it. Michael rests against his counter and glares at me. It’s the glare he learned from his mother. The kind that makes me feel two inches tall. I’ve only been privy to this glare twice before, and both times it was like my heart was ripped out of my body and thrown into the garbage disposal. Fuck this. But Michael doesn’t attack, like I expect. Instead, he folds his arms across his chest and says, “Fuck you, Brian. I’m not taking his side. I really shouldn’t have to take a side. I’m just trying to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life. Hell, if you weren’t so obviously interested in him, I’d probably tell him to fuck off. I just... He’s a good guy, Brian. I really I don’t want to see him get his heart broken because of you, like all the others.”

 

I swallow a laugh. Michael’s ready to deck me, so laughing at him would not be a good idea. “I haven’t broken any hearts.”

 

“You know you have.”

 

We look at each other, staring each other down, but really, there’s no way I can beat Michael when he’s like this. “I don’t want to deal with this, Brian. This melodramatic bullshit. We’ve had enough of that growing up, wouldn’t you agree? So, why don’t you just tell me what’s really on your mind? Because I know you didn’t come here to argue with me. You know you can’t win this one.”

 

I’m about to say something insanely stupid when his words sink in. God. He’s right. I didn’t come here for an argument, I came here for...

 

For his fucking support. 

 

That’s it. I’m fucked. 

 

“What?” He mimics me by raising an eyebrow. I wonder when he learned to do that. 

 

“I think I’m... I’m...”

 

Michael laughs softly. “Oh? You _think_? God, Brian. I know you are. We all do. You just need to work up your courage to tell him. Take your time. He said he’d wait.”

 

Defeated, I explain, “Well, I already asked him to meet me at Babylon tonight. So, it’s kind of a now or never situation.”

 

“What? I don’t--”

 

“I don’t need that long to decide. I’ve had months already. Months of fucking torture,” I admit to him, offering a small grin. “I just... I want someone to tell me not to do this.”

 

“Then you came to the wrong person.”

 

“Yeah? Probably.” 

 

“Or maybe you knew I wouldn’t talk you out of... Whatever you plan on doing. That’s why you came to me.” Michael’s face erupts into a huge smile. “So, you’ve already made up your mind... And you knew I’d tell you to knock your socks off... Then, what the fuck do you really need me for?”

 

“Personal cheerleader?” I ask, and my voice sounds so... needy, I almost don’t recognize it.

 

“Always,” he smirks and leans in to kiss my cheek. “So,” he begins, pulling away and returning to his display. “What are you going to wear?”

 

I snort. “Bye, Michael.”

 

“Bye, lover-boy.”

 

I walk out of the door, only to poke my head in one last time. “I still don’t do fucking ultimatums,” I call out, but leave before the comic he’s hurled at me hits it’s target.

* * *

A friend of mine used to work at a comic book store and called me up early one morning to tell me about this new comic they got in. So, in case anyone’s wondering, the Japanese comic Brian picks up _does_ exist. It’s called “Fake” by Sanami Matoh, and yes, two male cops do have sex in it.


	9. Soaring

Justin’s POV

 

There are these two twins making a stir on the dance floor. They’ve got half the club riveted, watching their every move. I’m not really attracted to them, but they’d make fabulous models. According to Brian though, they’re terrible in bed. What a shame.

 

We’re all at the bar, surveying the dance floor. I notice most of the guys that aren’t watching the twins are watching Brian, who isn’t doing anything other than leaning against the bar, sipping his whisky. But damn, he’d look sexy with a pitchfork and fucking overalls. He hasn’t said anything to me. He hasn’t really even acknowledged my presence other than a curt nod when he first came in. I want to ask, but I told him I’d wait.

 

I forgot how bad I am at waiting.

 

The twins are now dancing with this bear of a man. He’s so huge and hairy, I wish I had some pencils and paper to capture the moment. They’re working a number on him and it makes me giggle slightly. The way they’ve made a bear sandwich, the look of utter ecstasy on his face, the crowd’s bemused expressions--I want to encapsulate it all.

 

Oh. Brian moves to stand in front of me and I stop mid-laugh. We stare at each other for a long moment until it becomes too intense and I have to look away. His hand finds it’s way to the back of my neck and he pulls me closer and closer until I’m flat against his chest.

 

His smell overwhelms me. Spicy. Smoky. Mmm.

 

I open my eyes slightly as I take in Brian’s scent and I see Ted and Emmett standing next to me, staring at us with open mouths. Michael, on the other hand, is trying to hide a smile by biting his lips.

 

“Let’s dance,” Brian whispers in my ear. He moves his hand from my neck to my drink, pulling it out of my hand and placing in on the bar. “You looked so hot just now. The way you were watching them dance; so intense. Like you were memorizing every movement. Fuck, I’ve never seen anything as sexy as you.”

 

No one’s ever said shit like that to me. As if I couldn’t be more nervous. I think I’m going to vomit.

 

His perfect hands run down my shoulders, across my biceps, over my knuckles, and rest in my own calloused ones for a moment. I’d say we were holding hands, but knowing Brian, he would probably kill me. His fingers tighten around my own and he steps backwards, pulling me with him. He offers me a small grin, then rests an arm over my shoulders and I timidly place my own around his waist. Despite being terrified, I have to admit it’s all kind of romantic.

 

“I get the feeling that I make you nervous.” He comments with obvious humor in his voice once we’re on the dance floor. He’s been trying to get me to make eye contact with him again, but I can’t. After all that, I think I’ve finally lost my wits. I mean, this is it. The moment I’ve been waiting months for. The moment I was so sure would probably never come. _This is it_. I know I can’t control my body right now and I don’t trust myself not to maul him.

 

I nod when he says that.

 

“Why?”

 

I shrug.

 

“Quite verbal today, aren’t we?” Silence. I look at his chest, his neck, his right shoulder, his left ear, but I still can’t look at his face. I hear him sigh and quickly, without any time for me to react, his hand is on my chin, forcing me to look at him.

 

We stare at each other awkwardly before he places his arms back on my shoulders. Brian begins to move to the music effortlessly and after watching him for a long moment, I wrap my own arms around his waist again and start to move with him.

 

I swear to God, my body is acting on it’s own accord because I find that, without any coercing, my hands are reaching for his head, pulling his lips down to meet my own in a scorching kiss. A kiss that leaves both of us breathless and bruised. I don’t give him any time to question my actions or pull away completely. I just throw myself at him, jutting against his leg and plunging my tongue deep into his mouth. He pauses for only a moment before he returns my touch with the same amount of urgency.

 

His kisses awaken every part of my body. It like even my knees have become erogenous zones as they brush against his legs. The awkwardness of our position has him moving his arms around my waist in order to press me closer to him. He’s so fucking tall that I’m nearly pulled off the ground. The added sensation of being weightless makes me shiver and he moans into my mouth.

 

I eat his noises as if I’m starving.

 

I feel my shirt being raised from behind and his warm hands are finding their way underneath it. One moves up and one moves down, as if to paint my body with boiling passion. I can’t help but whimper as his fingers move lower and lower, expertly tracing _that_ part of my body.

 

Brian shifts slightly and his mouth is now trailing down my chin, across my jaw, around my neck. Oh. I gasp loudly as his fingers prod me with more force than I expect. I crane my neck and he’s all over it--licking, nipping, sucking. For the first time in my life, I pray that he leaves his mark on my body. I hate hickeys, they’re tacky and ugly. But, fuck, Brian could tattoo his name on my forehead and I’d be on cloud nine.

 

My mind is working overtime. Before I get lost in this, I need to figure some things out. I know that I don’t want to force him to bite off more than he can chew. Baby steps, you know? So I decide to let him choose the place we first fuck. I don’t want him to feel obligated to bring me home, or to come home with me. 

 

He’s not making any suggestions, though. And the longer we stand here, kissing and touching, the harder I get.

 

His hands and mouth are doing wonderful things to my body and it’s better than anything I imagined. Needles in my fingers and toes, I feel something ignite deep within me. I lick his lips one more time before I take the final plunge and ask, “Isn’t there a back room here?”

 

Brian stares at me, his eyebrows knitted together in contemplation. “You want me to take you to the back room?” He doesn’t look happy. I can feel the fire slowly die as he backs away from me. “The back room? No.”

 

“What? ” 

 

So, maybe he doesn’t want the back room. I would suggest some place else, but now it seems as though he doesn’t want any of it. Which is wrong, because I know he wants me. I mean, I haven’t been more sure of anything in my entire life. But there he is, backing away from me and looking totally disgusted.

 

I’m not quite sure what’s going on, but I know that Brian walking away from me isn’t right, although that’s what’s happening. What the hell?

 

“I’m not taking you to the back room.” I can see Brian swallow hard and I’m unable to read his eyes. He takes another step away and studies me carefully. Then he says softly, “Fuck you.” If I didn’t see his lips form the words, I would never have heard it. He shakes his head and walks away, leaving me on the dance floor, with a hard-on like I’ve never had and a million questions wracking my brain.


	10. Soaring

Brian’s POV

 

Jesus Christ. _This_ is why I don’t do this shit. It gets too confusing. And someone always gets hurt. 

 

Not that I’m hurt or anything. 

 

It’s just, that’s what happens.

 

You know, he could’ve saved both of us time and energy, but what he did just now was ridiculous. 

 

I try not to think about how hot that kiss was, how warm his body was, the way he trembled under my hands, because I’m not about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that... Well, just of knowing. 

 

It’s never been very hard for me to hide my emotions. But to ignore them, that’s not quite as simple. And right now, above all else, above anger and embarrassment, I feel betrayed. Betrayed by Justin, of course, for making me feel like a silly little faggot, if only for a moment. But mainly, betrayed by Michael and Daphne, who insisted that I was making the right decision by letting Justin into my life.

 

And if I’m completely honest with myself, into my heart. Even just a little. Even for only a moment. 

 

There’s a chance it could have gone a lot further than it did. 

 

“Brian!” I hear Justin cry from behind me. I should have known he’d come after me. There’s no get out of jail free card. 

 

If anything, Justin’s one determined mother fucker.

 

He follows me off the dance floor and wraps his hands around my arm, trying to pull me to a stop, but I shake him off. “Brian. Please,” he almost whimpers.

 

He reaches for me again and I turn around to face him. “Fuck. You,” I repeat. “And you know what? Fuck off.”

 

“I will, okay? But first let me--”

 

“Good.” I make a movement, as if to turn away from him, but he stops me again.

 

“First let me explain--”

 

“There’s nothing to explain. I’m not naive. I’m not some teenager with a crush or anything, okay? I get it.”

 

“But...” Justin trails off. His face scrunches up as if he’s thinking. I glare at him, tapping my foot impatiently. I shouldn’t even be standing here, waiting for him to finish his sentence. I should already be out that door and he should already be out of my life. “Then just tell me what I did wrong,” he demands.

 

“You didn’t do anything wrong--”

 

“But--”

 

“I was just stupid enough to think... God. I don’t know. But this is not what I expected.” This time I successfully move out of his reach and head for the door.

 

“So, that’s it?” he yells after me. I guess there’s no way I’m going to get out of this without a fight. We’re quickly gaining attention as bored club-goers stop to watch.

 

“Yep.”

 

“But...” He gestures to the dance floor. “But what was that?” 

 

That was you, making a slight fool out of me. 

 

“A good time?” I sneer.

 

Justin shakes his head defiantly. “No. That was more.”

 

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” Why is he pushing this? 

 

“I’m sorry you’re being a fucking asshole.”

 

_I’m_ being a fucking asshole? I try to control my anger by taking deep breaths. In. Then out. There are a couple ways I can get out of this. I take the easiest route. “That’s who I am, Justin,” I practically spit out his name. “Anyone here can tell you that. Any of our friends can tell you that.”

 

“So, I’m wasting my time?”

 

I shrug because I don’t really get where he’s going with this.

 

“But--”

 

Justin’s making me seriously angry. I storm over to him and stare directly into his eyes. He flinches. “You didn’t have to play all those games.” I watch as the blood drains out of his face. He shivers slightly, but as a result of what, I’m not sure. My voice is dangerously low when I say, “If you wanted me to fuck you, we could’ve done that on the plane. You wasted my time. Our time.”

 

“I didn’t--”

 

“Yes, you did, Justin. And on top of all that, you made me feel like a fool. I don’t appreciate that. So, do me a favor and fuck off.”

 

Since I’ve known Justin, he’s done some strange things, but I usually understand where he’s coming from. What he does next, however, throws me. 

 

He starts to sob. Uncontrollably. 

 

It makes me want to scream. God, what a cliché this has become: crying on the dance floor.

 

It’s borderline depressing the way Justin seems so despondent. He beings to sputter nonsense. “Daphne w-would say no man is worth this, but I thought... No, I still think you’re worth the fight. J-just one more time.”

 

“What?” 

 

“Why’d you meet me here if you don’t want to be with me?” He asks, his voice high and desperate.

 

I tilt my head and just stare at him. “What are you talking about? Why did you put me through all that if all you wanted was a fuck?”

 

I watch as Justin visibly calms down. His sobs start to recede and he’s no longer on the verge of hyperventilation. “You don’t understand.” He’s stopped crying, although his face is blotchy and red. “I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. But, well... I obviously made the wrong decision when I offered the back room. I was just trying to make it easier. You just don’t understand.”

 

Maybe if I grab his shoulders and shake him, he’d start making some sense. “You’re right. I don’t understand.”

 

Justin’s lips stretch into a blinding smile. How obnoxious. “Well, I do. I get it. Wow, I’m on a roll.” I must look utterly confused because that’s how I feel. “I don’t just want you for a fuck, Brian.”

 

My face becomes, hopefully, devoid of any obvious emotion; a skill I know I’ve perfected.

 

“Yeah, I want you. I want you to fuck me. Of course. But, that’s not all I want, Brian. Not at all.”

 

“But--”

 

“I suggested the back room because I didn’t want to scare you off. I mean, it’s kind of neutral territory, right?”

 

“But--”

 

“I want to be with you. I... I like you. More than I’ve ever liked any guy. I like you, Brian.”

 

I raise my eyebrows , then huff and look away from him. That smug look he’s got on his face only increases as he watches me slowly comprehend what he’s telling me.

 

“I didn’t know you were such a drama queen, Brian.”

 

“I’m not a drama queen, I just...”

 

“Queened out?”

 

That brings a genuine smile to my face and once again, Justin starts to cry. God. “Now who’s being a drama queen?”

 

“Fuck off.” He uses my line from earlier tonight.

 

“Only if you come with me.” I just blurt that out. But, I don’t want to take anymore chances. Before we have another meltdown, and before we become the juiciest gossip on Liberty Avenue, I want to take him home. 

 

“Where?”

 

“How about my loft?”

 

“Mm. Yes, please.”

 

So, I guess Daphne and Mikey were right. I should apologize for mentally damning them to the lowest level of hell. Even though I don’t do apologies. But, I guess Michael was right about that too. And really, above all else, I hate hypocrites. Hypocrites and liars. If I deny what’s about to happen, then I’ll be both.

 

Justin smiles that sweet, nervous smile he gave me when we first met on the airplane. Fuck. I have no clue what I’m doing, but then he leans up to kiss me softly. I get the feeling he’ll give me an eager helping hand.


	11. Soaring

Justin’s POV

 

I have the post-coital nerves--the kind that make me silent and afraid to touch him again. So instead, I stare up at the ceiling, pretending to be more interested in it than I really am. Brian shifts over, flipping a switch near his side of the bed, and these awesome blue lights shine down on us.

 

“Pretty,” I say, enthralled.

 

“You’re pretty,” Brian emphasizes and I snort. 

 

Man, I can be so charming.

 

“So....” Brian pauses for a moment. This is a little silly. I mean, we’ve just fucked. He was inside of me. I really shouldn’t be so scared. “Now what?” I know I must be imagining the slight blush forming on his cheeks.

 

I reach out tentatively and brush a damp hair off his forehead. “What do you mean? What do you normally do?”

 

“Normally?” He takes in a quick breath and then sighs. “Well, in all honesty, I kick my trick out, change the sheets, and take a shower.”

 

“Okay... You want me to help you change the sheets or leave or something?” I say this partly joking, but it’s not really funny so it comes out flat.

 

Brian’s body jerks around to face me. 

 

Yeah, I’m fairly certain Brian’s blushing. “Uh...” He seems to be at a loss for words. “Oh. Uh, are you trying to make it easier for me again?”

 

I grin and nod.

 

“Ah. Well, uh, stop doing that. It’s confusing me. And sort of... Never mind.”

 

“Sort of what?” I urge him.

 

“It’s sort of making me nervous.”

 

“I know.” After he raises his eyebrow for an explanation, I say, “You’re blushing.”

 

His eyes narrow and he flips me off. I just shake me head, giving him a crooked smile. I’m slowly realizing that we’re participating in what some romantics have affectionately coined as pillow talk. Brian’s pretty good at it, too. And it’s effectively making me less nervous. 

 

“What?” He asks when I being to giggle.

 

“I can’t tell you.”

 

“So, you’ll laugh at me, but you won’t tell me why? That’s pretty mean.”

 

I push on his shoulder a little so that he rolls over. “Fuck off.” He’s so fucking warm. I remember that warmth covering my entire body not half and hour ago and I begin to blush.

 

“Now you’re blushing,” he comments, making me turn even redder. “Why?” 

 

“Just thinking.”

 

“About?”

 

“Oh. Uh, you know. This and that.”

 

He reaches for my cock, which, from the way I feel it begin to stir, is going to be up for another round sooner than I expected. “This?” He asks, petting the head for a moment. Sticking his tongue effectively in his cheek, he moves his hand around to my ass before asking, “Or that?”

 

“A little...” I trail off as his finger beings to send small sparks of excitement throughout my body. “A little bit of both, I guess.”

 

Brian wraps his arm around my back and pulls me on top of him. “You guess?” He asks with mock disdain in his voice. “You should be more decisive.” Raising his head, he kisses me lightly on the mouth.

 

As we pull away, I can’t help but lick my lips. Brian tastes much sweeter than I imagined he would. His mouth: warm, wet, and oh so inviting. “Mmm. You’re right. I guess I’ve always been more for ‘that’ than ‘this.’ Although, I’d never turn down a ‘this’ if offered...” I raise my eyebrows. “ _Were_ you offering?”

 

Brian has a sly little grin on his face. “If we’re talking about you topping me, then the answer is no.” Barking out a laugh at the pout I have on my face, Brian says, “I have a reputation to uphold. What do you think all the boys on Liberty Avenue would say if I got a boyfriend and became a sissy bottom boy all in one night?”

 

I become very still and extraordinarily quiet.

 

Did he say ‘boyfriend’?

 

Boyfriend? Brian wants to be my boyfriend? Or is he already my boyfriend? Because I have no problem with--hey! Not all bottoms are sissies. Asshole.

 

“Breathing is sort of essential, Justin,” Brian teases me. 

 

I clear my throat and let out the air I didn’t even know I was holding in. “Not if my heart stops beating.”

 

“Now why would it do that?” He nearly purrs as he runs his hands over my naked arms. 

 

I have to tread this carefully. _Do not make a huge deal out of this_. I wrack my brain and try to think of a response that won’t scare Brian away. At least I know for a fact that clapping my hands and letting out loud cheers of victory would not be the correct approach. Instead, I dip my head and let my tongue snake out to lick Brian’s mouth. “God, I could kiss you forever.”

 

“But that’s not kissing. That’s licking.” I can hear the challenge in his voice. I shift on his body so that I’m straddling his belly and then I pin his arms above his head. 

 

I start the kiss slowly. It’s soft, gentle, and quick. Each time I pull away from his lips, I let my own linger a little longer on them until finally, our mouths open and I slide my tongue in. Brian lets me control the kiss.

 

“What would you call that?” I ask, pulling away from his mouth and gasping for breath. “Kissing? Or licking?”

 

“Shut the fuck up.” He grabs the back of my head and meets my lips halfway. 

 

I really could kiss him for hours. I love when men explore my mouth, and Brian’s tongue does that masterfully. He traces my teeth and gums, lingering a bit on the molar I chipped when I was twelve. He tickles the top of my mouth, making me shiver. I slide my body further down his own until I can feel him, hot and hard, against my ass. 

 

Yes, I think I’ll keep him. 

 

His body shakes a little as we make contact, but then he pulls away from my mouth. “Lie down on your stomach,” he says, moving his arms from out of my weak grasp. 

 

That’s not really what I had planned.

 

“I...” 

 

“What?” He asks as he lifts his body to a sitting position. I shake my head and start to slide off him, but he stops me. “Tell me. If you have another idea, I want to know.”

 

“Well... I sort of wanted... To fuck like this. With me on top. Straddling you. Controlling the movements... I want you in... Deep...” Well, shit. That’s embarrassing. 

 

He laughs and I can’t handle it. I move my hands to my face and try to hide. “Hey,” he says gently, trying to tug my hands away. “That sounds like a great idea. It’s just... You’re so... I don’t know. I wouldn’t have expected that from you, I guess.”

 

“So, what? You expected me to just lie there and take it?” I ask through my hands, more angry now than embarrassed. “Or is that what you want?” God, first night together and we’re already arguing. 

 

“No. No. Neither. Jesus, Justin. You didn’t just ‘lie there and take it’ before. I certainly don’t expect you to do it this time. And no, that’s not what I want. I want you to ride me. I bet you can really control that lithe, hot little body of yours. And that tight ass...” Brian runs a hand down my crack again and I bite my lips, still hiding my face. “I love your tight ass.” He tugs on my hands again, and this time, I let them fall into my lap. Making sure I’m watching his every movement, Brian brings a couple fingers to his mouth and then seeks out my ass once more. Fuck. I shift a little, pushing down on his hand. “If you want to ride me now, I’m all for it. Obviously,” he laughs. “But... There’s something I want to do that we didn’t do before.”

 

The way his fingers are manipulating my body makes me care less about which situation we fuck in, as long as we do it soon. “W-what’s that?”

 

“Have you ever been rimmed?”

 

Okay, fucking can wait.

 

“No,” I answer. Which is true. I haven’t. I have rimmed other people on occasion, though. 

 

He pulls out and etches his hand across my ass, his fingers only slightly dipping into the crack. “Do you know what it is?”

 

I let out a laugh. “I’m a fag, Brian. Of course I know what rimming is.”

 

“Can I rim you?” 

 

I swallow hard and my cock twitches as I nod my head. “Yes. God.” My voice cracks. “Yes.”

 

We change positions so that I’m lying on my stomach. He stretches his body out and pushes his face in front of my ass. Brian’s lips curl into a savage grin against my ass as he parts my cheeks. I hear his breath hitch and then, ever so slowly, Brian leans forward. Starting at the top of my crack, he moves down with tiny kisses, but skips over the entrance. My hands squeeze the pillow in anticipation and my heart pounds in my chest. For a moment, that’s all I feel. But then something exciting runs throughout my body and I feel... God, I feel wonderful.

 

It’s a subtle feeling, but so concentrated on that sensitive part of my body. A tingling begins at the base of my spine as Brian’s tongue hardens and presses inside, demanding admittance.

 

I let out a small “oh,” and then Brian’s inside me. Not deep--he can’t go that deep--but just enough to make me feel so fucking good. “God,” I whisper. “God.”

 

My legs being to shake as Brian’s movements become more fierce. I sigh this deep, guttural noise when one of his hands cups my balls. I can feel his cock twitch against my leg, kissing it with trails of pre-come.

 

“Don’t stop,” I nearly whine as he slowly begins to withdraw.

 

“I thought you wanted a ride.” 

 

Oh, yeah. That. I nod my head vigorously. 

 

He turns me over and licks his lips. “You taste so fucking good,” he tells me and I totally have to blush at that. I mean, who says that? “Here,” he leans over my face. “Taste yourself.”

 

We kiss gently, until Brian forces his tongue into my mouth. “See?”

 

I nod again, my breath’s becoming erratic and my cock’s pretty fucking hard again. “I want to ride you.” I rest my tongue on my lower lip and bite down. For some reason, I really want to do that. Brian reaches over me and grabs a condom and some lube. I hold out my hand. “Not a lot,” I say. He gives me a confused look. “I’m still open from before. Still a little slick, you know? And... I kind of like it... Dry...”

 

Picking up the condom, he hands it to me. “Want to put it on me?” To say that his voice sounds sexy doesn’t really do it justice, but that’s exactly how it sounds--sexy. Husky and an octave lower than normal. My blood flows a little quicker when I remind myself it’s because of me that he sounds that way; that I’m the one making his cock so hard.

 

And then I remember the boyfriend comment. 

 

Yep. I was right. They were all right. He wants me. Life is fucking good.

 

I take the condom from him and sit up. I can feel Brian’s blood flowing, beating inside him. I stroke up and down, reveling in his soft moans of pleasure. With a huge smile, I run my finger up the large vein, stopping at the head. Brian allows me only a few moments to play before he grabs my wrist.

 

“Do you want me to come now or while you’re on top of me?” He teases, motioning to the condom, which I open hastily and roll on him.

 

He settles down on the bed. “Let’s see what you can do.”

 

I throw him a feral grin as I crawl up and settle astride his body. Grasping my ass firmly in his hands and then spreading the cheeks, Brian helps me maneuver on top of him. “God,” he moans. “You’re still so fucking tight.”

 

We make it past that initial barrier. It’s still a little bit painful, even though I’ve been prepared, even though he’s working hard to make sure it’s minimal. You know: brushing a hand comfortingly across my belly, making sure I don’t move to quickly, whispering words of encouragement--all of which is necessary when you’re fucking someone in the ass. I sincerely appreciate his tenderness, but damn it, I want it now. I push down and he’s all the way in. Ah, yes. As we wait for me to adjust, I’m clearly reminded of what being filled to the hilt means. 

 

He gasps when I try to pull him in deeper. “More. I want more,” I demand, pushing myself down harder. We begin to move in a frantic pace. My cries and his grunts echo throughout the loft. It’s a very hot orchestration, I must admit.

 

“Brian,” I can hardly form a sentence. “I w-wanna come, Brian.”

 

“Fuck,” he moans. “Say it again.”

 

What? I look at him oddly, small whimpers coming from my throat as my legs break out in sweat from the workout they’re receiving.

 

“Say my name, Justin,” he reiterates, lifting his hips as best he can. That added pressure and the angle we’re at hits me so perfectly that I scream. God, I fucking scream.

 

I scream his name, my body shaking, fingers gripping Brian’s arm in a deadly vice. 

 

“That’s it,” Brian laughs, ignoring the pain in his arms. His laughter turns into a loud moan as I squeeze around him and move in small circles. Removing an arm from my waist, Brian takes my cock into his hand and starts stroking it. 

 

I can feel him inside every part of me: my fingers, my belly, my feet, my mind. Everywhere.

 

My balls shoot into my body and I come, covering him in my semen. Brian moans loudly and follows quickly. His body stiffens and then shakes as he empties himself into the condom. “Fuck.”

 

I collapse on top of him; the force draws a quick breath out of him. “Jesus, I’m sorry,” I apologize and am about to pull off when he stops me.

 

“No. You can stay.” 

 

Smiling, I wrap my arms around him and push down again. We stay like that for a moment, coming down from our high. But my body is trying to expel him and we have no choice. Gripping the base of the condom, I lift off of him, sighing.

 

“So,” I say after we lay in that silence again. “Are you really my boyfriend?”

 

“Do you want me to be?” Brian asks, turning around to face me.

 

I nod. “Yeah. Definitely.”

 

“Okay then.”

 

“So... Can I be your boyfriend?”

 

Brian laughs, shaking his head. “Doesn’t it kind of work that way?”

 

“Well, you don’t really do boyfriends--”

 

Brian interrupts me with a sigh. “Michael says I don’t do a lot of things. And he’s right, you know? So, forget about it...” He pauses, then glances at me nervously. “But, I’m not really romantic,” he explains. “I don’t really like romance. Or domesticity. Or monogamy. I mean, that part of me is real...”

 

“I don’t want to change you. I didn’t fall in love with you because of who you aren’t.”

 

“Love?” I swear to God, Brian looks like he’s about to run away.

 

“Well, yeah. I’m at that point where I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. I can wait for you to figure out how you feel about me, so don’t worry about saying it back or anything. In fact, I’d be kind of disappointed if you said it right away. It wouldn’t be you. I expect it to be just as hard to get you to admit you love me as it was to get you to admit you want me.”

 

Brian rolls his eyes and chuckles. “You’re not going to make any of this easy for me, huh?”

 

“You said not to. Besides, I know what a drama queen you are. I doubt you’d make it any easier for me.”

 

“True,” he nods, then slides over next to me. “So, let me ask again?”

 

“What?”

 

“What are we going to do now?”

 

“Well,” I turn to my side and let Brian spoon up against me. His stomach is cold and wet. I’d forgotten... I made him all wet and sticky. “Ew,” I complain. “That’s gross.”

 

“Hey, this shot out of your body.”

 

“Not really comfortable, is it?”

 

“Nope. Now you know how I feel, being used as a loading dock for your come.”

 

I laugh for what seems like the hundredth time today. 

 

“Well... You said no to changing the sheets... How about a shower?”

 

“Now?” He pulls me closer to him. “I’m sort of comfortable. Or rather, comfortable making you uncomfortable.”

 

“So, then, what’s left? Didn’t you say you kick your trick out?” I swallow, even though I know he won’t. I am his boyfriend, after all. That thought makes me smile. Brian and Justin sitting in a tree...

 

“Please,” Brian scoffs, but tightens his grip around me. “Like that’s even an option.

 

I knew it. 

 

“I can feel you smiling against my arm, what’s up?”

 

“I’m just happy.”

 

Snorting a little, Brian pushes me down so that I can look at him. “Is this where I’m supposed to bust out the ring and tell you how much I _wub_ you?” The sarcasm is dripping off his voice. 

 

Damn, even being a prick, he’s hot.

 

But two can play at this game. “No. No. Of course not. That comes later.” I lean in to kiss him. “I like platinum, by the way.”

 

For a split second, Brian looks horrified, then his face breaks out in a gigantically uncharacteristic grin. “You almost had me there.”

 

“I’ve had you since the flight.”

 

“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”

 

“I am... I want you to kiss me.”

 

“Bossy bottom.”

 

“I hear that’s how you like them.”

 

Brian shakes his head. “I’m going to kill Michael.”

 

“Nah. He’s a good friend.” Brian nods in agreement, then rolls on top of me, running his fingers through my hair. “That’s kind of gross,” I complain, moving my head away from his hands.

 

“What?”

 

I cringe jokingly and say in my most scandalized voice, “You had those hands up my ass. Now you’re putting them in my hair. Nasty.”

 

Brian laughs and reaches down to twist my nipple. “Come on, little boy. Let’s shower.”

 

“Then you can play with my hair all you want,” I agree, sliding out from under him, heading toward his bathroom.

 

“Oh can I? You’re so fucking generous.”

 

“You don’t know how generous I can be.”

 

He gets up to follow me. 

 

I put an extra zing into my walk, knowing for sure that this time, he’s watching.


End file.
